


Tea and Other Joys

by jyuanka



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:23:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jyuanka/pseuds/jyuanka
Summary: A collection of at times disparate and at other times connected leodle ficlets





	1. Cake for the Chairwoman

She pushes the cup towards him. That cup. The white one with the chipped rim and blue bird patterns. _Her_ cup. The cup no one else is allowed to use.

Leorio looks into its contents. You can’t see your reflection in black coffee, but you can see something resembling it in the affectionate, deliberately casual way the cup passed across the table from her hand to his, in the heat of the liquid on his tongue, in the way she scooted closer to him, eliminating the distance between them, burying her nose in some newspaper and pretending like nothing worthy of note just happened.

Her gloved hand reaches to her own cup - a plastic cup, he can’t believe it - and as he watches her drink he almost feels guilty, but none of her movements seem out of the ordinary. There isn’t a wrinkle of distaste on her face, or a pause of contemplation, and it frustrates him.

To avoid the several gray, jagged triangles disturbing the harmony of the white porcelain rim, he knows where to place his mouth. He must’ve observed her long enough drinking from this same cup to know how to do this innocuous thing, fully conscious of what he’s doing. That, too, frustrates him.

The other day when a new employee picked up the cup, Cheadle, in silent menace, stared the culprit down until her cup was back on the shelf. Everybody else knows not to touch it. You don’t use the white porcelain cup with the blue birds. You fucking don’t.

The other day, when he picked up the cup (and really, he never paid attention to these kinds of things), everyone around him communicated with concerned glances and crooked smiles, and Leorio didn’t know what to make of it when someone offered him another cup. After all, the one in his hand was just fine. She didn’t say anything, and everyone seemed antsy for some kind of reaction that never came. She poured the coffee for him then sat down looking worryingly serene and untroubled.

Now, Leorio stares down at it, unsure what to make of the indistinct kind of happiness he was feeling. He felt special, vaguely important, and not at all certain if this was something to be particularly pleased over, or if it was supposed to be major or of any significance.

Next day, she’ll do the same thing, and he’ll be less surprised, but giddy just the same. Cheadle indicated quite clearly that even if the cup has now become a shared object, it was his duty to wash it, and if it chipped more it’s him to blame, but Leorio didn’t mind that. It’s their cup. The cup no one else is allowed to use.


	2. Nightboys

“Wake up, Leorio.”

Mouth dry, he turned around to see Cheadle hunched over him, the bright green of her hair muddy, her face featureless in the bedroom’s darkness but for a glint in her glasses.

“Is it time?” he asked, taking the hand she put on his shoulder and placing it over his eyes.

She moved her hand about his face, grazing her fingers along his cheeks. “Yes it’s time.”

Leorio kept his eyes closed, feeling fuddled joy at the trill of contained enthusiasm in her voice. “The Nightboys will bloom?”

“Will you stop calling them Nightboys? That’s not even the local name for the species.” 

He hummed, already knowing she’s warmed up to the name a week ago. “Give me a kiss so I can wake up.”

She pinched his nose. “You deserve a bite in the ass.”

“In a sexy way, I’m sure.”

Cheadle snorted at his squeezed voice and let go of his nose. “Come on, sunrise is in forty-five minutes, roughly.” she tapped her finger against his cheek. “I brewed cinnamon.”

Leorio opened his eyes once more and propped himself up. Now that he wasn’t bundled in the sheets, he felt the cold sting of early morning on his shoulders. Cheadle slid off the bed and drew the curtains apart, and the only light was the fuzzy glow of streetlamps outside the apartment.

“Can I at least wash my face?” Leorio asked, dragging his legs off the bed.

Cheadle nodded, antsy and absentminded, her face now a bit more visible. She moved about the room, picking up stuff, almost like a shadow, barely a sound to her footsteps. Leorio’s eyes followed her as she fetched a jacket and draped it over his shoulders.

They both knew the apartment too well to stumble in the darkness, and everything was too tidy for Leorio to miss a corner. Even in the living room and the kitchen, Cheadle refused to turn on any lights, the flowers were too sensitive and she feared it would affect their blooming. She cared for every step of the process in an almost ritualistic manner.

He had expected to find the trestle table and two chairs in the mini greenhouse, but the table had been pushed farther back along with the chairs, replaced by a quilt and cushions on the floor.

Leorio glanced at her. “You’ve been awake all night haven’t you?”

“Of course.”

Cheadle’s greenhouse was almost like an incubator, enjoyed a short stint as a sparse balcony before Cheadle walled it. A square space with glass walls attached to the rest of the apartment, simultaneously familiar and alien, but with the perky cushions, with the brewed cinnamon pot beside them, and the Nightboys on the cusp of miraculous rebirth, it felt like just another corner of home.

The two flopped down on the cushions, surrounded by plants, some of them hybrid, rare species brought from wildly different places, others just local flora one could find growing anywhere in Swaldini.

In front of their cozy recline was a large pot bursting with thorny brambles. Even for the untrained eye, nobody could miss the purple, pink, fat blue buds snuggled among the thin branches of the dark green bush. The sleepy flowers were so ridiculously bright it seemed they emitted light from within their closed petals.

“It’s them, the Nightboys.” Cheadle said.

“Why are you whispering?” playfully Leorio imitated her cautious, almost fearful voice tone.

Cheadle turned to him, green eyes twinkling. “I don’t know, I suppose I’m excited.”

He hummed, draping an arm around her, drawing her closer. “It’s really unfair, that they bloom only once every ten years, and only for like, thirty minutes.”

Cheadle barely began to rest her head on his shoulder before she jolted back to look closer at the flowers. “Look, one of them is unraveling, Leorio!”

Her nose was almost buried in the brambles, her eyes wide and expectant, her face itself unraveling a wide smile. “It’s in the back, some distance between it and the others.” she turned to him, her features glowing, like her skin has just contracted the flowers’ light by merely being close to them. “It’s contagious!”

Leorio stared at her joyful face, her smile turning into a triumphant grin, and his own smile was widening at seeing her happiness. “It is.”

He feared she will dissolve from sheer excitement, so he crawled closer and affectionately bumped his head against hers. “Our boys are so pretty.”

“I know.”

The soft, faint glow of dawn engulfed the greenhouse in its hazy colors, and the two observed, breathless, as one after another the Nightboys bloomed, their colorful, velvet petals giving way to the starlight within, unfolding like a secret hidden in radiance where nobody would bother looking.

Forgotten in their hands were the cups of brewed cinnamon, bodies close in silence they were one, holding their last role in the ritual, watching each flower as it withered and shrunk back on itself when the first rays of sunrise descended upon the greenhouse. There was melancholy in losing that quaint, marvelous gleam, but the beams of morning light were warm on their skin, and they both were filled with that particular satisfaction and lightheartedness that accompanies witnessing a natural phenomenon. 

When the last Nightboy succumbed to its ten-year-long slumber, Leorio placed a kiss on the top of Cheadle’s head. “We should go back to sleep, too.”

She cocked her head up to look at him. “Preferably for ten years.”

“No, you still owe me a sexy ass bite. I can’t wait ten years for that.”

Cheadle chuckled. “Can’t we do with a kiss?”

Leorio laughed and shook his head. “Nope, it’s too late now.”

Cheadle climbed to her knees and threw her arms around his shoulders. “I see then, just let me rearrange my face first.”

His eyes widened and he drew back, but she leaned closer. “You don’t mean…”

Amused and nonchalant she nodded. “A proper canine jaw will be perfect for the job.”

Leorio squinted. “No?”

“Yes.”

“Look, Cheadle, I don’t think I have a lot of ass to bite on anyway.”

“I like what you have there just fine.”

“Can’t we do with a kiss instead?”

“Nope, it’s too late now.”


	3. Hair Brushing

The teapot whistled, volume II of The Human Body in Myth snuggled at last where it belongs on the fourth shelf in her library, Leorio stepped out of the shower.

Cheadle trotted to the kitchen and turned down the stove, heard his bare feet squeaking on the floorboards before he appeared in sight, in shorts with a towel still draped over his head.

“Hi.” he smiled at her, but she could hardly see it from behind long wet locks of hair stuck to his face, dangling past his chin. “Where’s the hairbrush?”

“My room, first drawer.” she answered him, opening the cupboard to retrieve two cups.

“Hey Cheadle,”

“Yes?” 

He took a breath, the corners of his mouth drawn down in something akin to embarrassment. “Can you brush my hair?”

She turned back to him, squinting at his head, trying to envisage the mess under the towel. “It will hurt.”

Leorio shrugged. “I can handle it.”

In the living room, he found Cheadle lounging on the couch, having dragged the coffee table a little to the side. She offered her palm for him to hand her the brush, and opened her legs. “Sit.”

His eyes followed her knees as they parted. “What.”

Cheadle poked the air with the brush, pointing it at the floor. “Sit on the carpet, that way it will be easier for me.” she inched her legs farther apart. “Or would you like a chair?”

Leorio shook his head. “No, I like this.”

“I thought so.”

He squatted down between her legs, planted a quick kiss on her knee before turning around to rest his back against the couch. Cheadle hummed over him, sprawling her fingers in his hair, dragging them down like the teeth of a comb, patiently untying knots in her way.

“It almost reaches your shoulders now.” she commented, absentmindedly gathering it between her hands.

“You like it?”

“It curls.”

Leorio snorted. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll care for it better then.”

Cheadle picked up the brush, and started from the top of his head. “That shouldn’t be your only incentive. Long hair is a responsibility.” he flinched when the brush stuck. “If you can’t properly care for it, then cut it.”

Leorio groaned. “Is that your Mama speaking?”

She chuckled. “More or less.” 

“My mom used to say the exact same thing, to my sisters.” she could feel his smile without seeing it. “I have to start taking it personally now.”

“I bet you were one greasy boy who had to be dragged by the nose to bathe.”

Leorio laughed. “That isn’t true. I just needed some persuading.”

“Of course.”

They fell into comfortable silence, his eyes fixed on the waning thread of steam creeping out of the teapot, at the beam of sunlight cutting the table in half, feeling Cheadle’s hand resting gently on the top of his head while her brush descended along his hair over and over again. He wanted to lean his head on her knee, but she would push his head upright every time he tried. 

“I can braid your hair, if you want.” Cheadle said, finally setting down the brush. “Make you look like warrior princes of olden times.”

Leorio chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like me at all.”

She hummed, running her fingers through his combed hair, forking it into three locks. “Maybe, however I’d like to see for myself.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Cheadle started braiding.

“Didn’t you know, all this wild hair is making me popular.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I get ‘looks’, you know what I mean?”

She snickered, folding the two last tresses, then using her teeth to drag a tattered black hairband from around her wrist. She leaned down, and placed a kiss on the top of his head. “We’re done here.”

He instantly turned around to face her. “How do I look?”

“You can check yourself in a mirror, Leorio.”

“No, just tell me, do I look like a warrior prince?” 

Cheadle pierced her lips. “No.” 

He looked disappointed. “Really?”

“You look better.”

Leorio hooked his arms under her knees, drawing them closer, and finally got to lean his head on them. “Thank you.”

She held an escaped tendril and tucked it behind his ear. “You’re welcome.”


	4. Like a Morning in October, Like August and Funerals

Like the first days of October, she crept on him. Pleasant and radiant like a quiet morning, when the clouds gather above him, an ensemble before rainfall, but no raindrops come. It’s morning and it’s too early for anything, the hour where one gets to breathe for long, to think of himself breathing, to consider the gentle light wafting in from behind white curtains. 

Where he comes from, things died in summer. People, too, but that’s not a memory he ponders often.

She was the opposite of sweltering roofs and heat hazes that fascinated him as a kid. He used to think that if he ran towards them he’ll enter the swaying vision, but they always outran him. She was the opposite of realizing the truth of mirages.

When he conjures images of his hometown in mind, he always sees it in waves. Landscapes melt and merge; it’s always hot, especially at night.

He had hated the prolonged mourning rituals of that place. The way tears were an obligation, and sadness was extended to hollowness. One was not allowed to grieve in seclusion. Death, like everything else, was a family affair.

She was different. August with her was different. A sense of isolation clung to him in her company. Sometimes it seems like there’s nobody else, other times there would be too many others he loses her in the crowd, and maybe when she cranes her neck back to glance at him he doesn’t notice.

Their phone calls are more frequent now. Something about it was like the insistent ringing of the voice that accompanied the arrival of Pietro’s mom. Something was amiss. Maybe because it isn’t the same as before.

She’s like morning and for the first time in years he wants to wake up early. She tends to leave if he isn’t on time. Never bothers to wake him, though, and he doesn’t want her to; it would rob the whole thing of its significance.

So he wakes up early. Early enough for her to still be sitting on the balcony, looking different. He’s still trying to get used to it, the human face. It was endearingly mundane, something about how surprisingly unremarkable it was has settled warmly in his heart. He wonders how much time she spends in front of the mirror, and suspects it isn’t much. Doesn’t seem the type. Or maybe she is, he just never sees because nobody else does, because she’s good at concealing like that. But on the balcony she’s concealing nothing, looking as serene and desolate as an old fountain.

He has to make his own coffee, she’ll wait. Unlike back in their home, the kitchen here was big enough for one to breathe, and move comfortably. Not that he has that much experience, since little boys were rarely allowed in the kitchen. For a little less than ten minutes, this space was his. The coffee making machines had baffled him when he’d first encountered them, but grew necessary. Now that he has time, he doesn’t use them. Brews coffee the old way, does everything possible to not make it taste like the first time he drank it, from a small cup, black and bitter and passed around mourners.

Coffee, too, was a family affair.

She doesn’t seem to care about these things. Just add sugar. She had hers already but she’ll drink with him anyway. Now he knows how she likes it. Kids don’t get to decide. In funerals you will drink it the same as everybody else. He thinks about it now but can’t tell if little him thought about the same thing. Probably not.

She had grown necessary as well. For his overall wellbeing. His eyes wander in search of her, he most likely looks perplexed when one moment he can see her and the other not. It was easy enough to spread his nen around and keep track of her, and hundred others, as well, but that would bother everyone. It was lovely when she suddenly came back as if she’d never left, and slip in the seat beside him, something about her movements indicating a desire for closeness but he’s too afraid to approach with anything but casual talk. She prefers it that way, at least he thinks she does.

People back home didn’t do casual talk. Either you tell your entire life story or you excuse yourself. Cross to the other side or look the other way and pretend that you hadn’t seen your relative in the street. He used to love stopping in the middle of the road for chatting, didn’t understand why his mom turned frustrated over it. Maybe because she was the one doing the chatting and he was the one listening, and maybe because he’d call out for these people, and his mom would give out an audible sigh and glare at him with wrathful eyes.


	5. Of Car Rides and Empathy

Swaldini was shimmering, its highways sprawled before them like endless, tangled tapes of light glowing against a heavy, black sky that tricked the eye into believing it’s touchable. Windows down, hair fluttering with the cold wind, Cheadle glanced at Leorio from the corner of her eye, his face contorted in irritation, flicking through music channels, not settling on any. 

“Frown harder and you might find a channel you like, Leorio.”

“Swaldini’s radio sucks.” he retorted, looking up at her from where he was hunched. “Don’t you have any CDs? What do you usually listen to when you’re driving?”

“This isn’t my car, I told you.” she said, the rapid change of channels beginning to annoy her. “Once we reach the inner city we’ll buy a CD, hm?”

“Alright.” 

Silence slouched down over the two of them like a child bored out of their mind, accentuated only by the swishing of the winds whirling outside the vehicle. Leorio tried to busy himself with picking apart the lights interposing the darkness on the highway, but he felt like someone filled his chest with too much air, choking him.

With a great exhale, he let it out. “Can we talk about something, at least?”

Cheadle spared him a quick glance before her eyes were back on the road. “Of course, is there something specific you want to talk about?”

“There doesn’t have to be anything specific, just talking. Aren’t you bored?”

“No.”

Leorio sighed. “Don’t you think the guys we just dealt with were shady as hell? I bet we were one wrong word away from being held hostages.”

“They all are.” Cheadle answered. “Dubious, I mean. However holding us hostage would be useless to them. They value the Association as an important client.”

“Do you usually do that? Buy medical supplies from such people.”

“They are the best. We’re longtime partners.” she said, smoothly rounding a curve in the highway. “Besides, she’s a doctor too, Arietta.”

Leorio scoffed. “She sells organs on the black market.”

“That’s just a side job.” a little smiled creased her cheeks. “I thought you liked her?”

“Oh that scar on her face certainly has its effect. It’s like holding a knife to your throat.”

Cheadle chuckled. “That was merely a taste of what pro-Hunters do on a regular basis, Leorio.” she said, a grim seriousness creeping into her face. “Our ethical codes do and will clash with those of others, but a Hunter respects talent and good work, and does what’s necessary.”

Leorio side-eyed her with some distaste. “Just say you aren’t principled.”

“And you are?”

His heart skipped a beat, and his eyes avoided hers. “I never thought about it,” he admitted after a long moment of dead silence. “I just do what I think is right.”

“I do what I think is right, too.” she countered, her brows furrowed. “Once you begin working in your field, you’ll understand. A good advice is to avert your gaze and take what you want.”

“Yeah, just don’t look at the shit that happens in the background, that I’ll make it go away.”

“Exactly.”

Leorio could feel the grimace growing on his face. “That’s disgusting. Do all Hunters become numb like this?”

“The ones who don’t either die young or live in obscurity, Leorio.”

His heart clenched with the sudden image of Gon with his whole body in death’s grip. He wanted to yell something at her in return, say something smart and grounded, but no words left his mouth.

Arietta’s face was still clear in his memory, with all its features; the sharp gray eyes and the cheek scar and missing bit from her earlobe and space between her front teeth. If he didn’t know what she did for a living, he would’ve thought her a pleasant, albeit weird, woman. She was kind, perhaps _too_ kind, and now that he thought about it, maybe he should have smelled the real thing faster. But what if what he’d seen of her _was_ the real thing? She was straightforward about what she did, so Leorio didn’t understand why his mind kept insisting on the presence of masked dishonesty. He had no faith in his gut instincts.

Yet, despite this, despite the cold suspicion crawling at the edge of his mind that even Cheadle lied and did questionable things, he still trusted her. In fact, besides Kurapika, he seemed to trust her most in this new environment he was plunged into with no chance of reprise. She was honest with him, at least when it concerned his education, but he had no certainties about other things. Perhaps that’s what averting your gaze meant. Perhaps he should just take what he wanted from her and leave the rest, but Leorio knew he couldn’t do that, and he refused to believe all Hunters could do such a thing as well. Forming even the shallowest of emotional attachments was simply inevitable.

“Here,” Cheadle said, parking the car under a branched tree, and he suddenly realized they’ve reached the city. “See that store there? Yes — the one with the red sign. Get the CDs you want and come back quickly, we’re not allowed to park here.”

He was about to exit the car before abruptly turning around to look at her. “What do you like to listen to?”

“Sabo & Co.” 

Leorio squinted. “Hey isn’t that the rapper who held a concert here a week ago?”

Cheadle nodded. “Yes. Her new album is excellent.”

His nose twitched. He wanted to tease her by judging her tastes but didn’t have enough knowledge about said rapper to do so, instead he settled on an awkward nod, and exited the car.

When he returned, Cheadle eyed the CDs he brought with curiosity. “Soqra? What’s that?”

Leorio grinned, tossing a bag of chips he bought along with the CDs on her lap. “ _Who’s_ that. I can’t believe I found such a thing here!” he said, popping open a soda. “Soqra is a singer from my country, was really popular in the ‘60s; my mom used to listen to her all the damn time.”

“Oh.” Cheadle lifted the CD up to her face, inspecting it closer to the light.

Leorio nudged her as she turned the car on. “Hey, what did your parents listen to? You must remember some music from when you were a kid.”

For a moment, Cheadle seemed lost for words. His question caught her off guard and she busied herself with driving the car out of the crowded street.

“Is something wrong?” he asked her when no immediate answer was uttered.

“Barezzi.”

“What?”

“Otello Barezzi, an opera composer.” Cheadle repeated, the streetlights reflecting on her glasses, making it difficult to make out the look in her eyes. “My parents used to travel outside the country on summers to attend his shows.” she said, rounding a corner. “There were many others as well, singers, too, but mostly classical music composers. I used to listen to them on this old gramophone in my father’s library.” Cheadle let out a stifled breath, her hands firm on the steering wheel. “Are we going to listen to this Soqra sing or not?”

Leorio fumbled with his reply, a couple of seconds behind her, still thinking of her words. “You don’t wanna listen to Sabo?”

She shrugged. “I can do that later. I want to hear what Mrs. Paladiknight used to hear.”

His face broke in a smile, feeling sudden and inexplicable warmth in his chest. “I want to hear what she used to hear, too.”

Exiting the crowded street, Cheadle increased the car’s speed, returning his smile. “Get on with it then, it’s still a long way to the headquarters.” 


	6. Cheadle's Birthday

Cheadle stared at the elegant bundle of lilies and the curious rectangle encased in pretty blue paper wrap –which she was damn certain is a book– and found her hand pressing anxiously over a rapid heartbeat. 

**_Forgive me for missing your birthday_ **

**_I’ll make up for it when I see you_ **

**_Love,_ **

**_Leorio_ **

She had read the words on the card for ten times, and those were just the ones she counted. At this point they kind of just echoed in her mind even when she wasn’t looking at them –which wasn’t much; it’s been either in her hand or in her pocket since she’d received it– and now she finally had the peace of mind to sit down and contemplate it. Fondly. Terribly so. The smooth surface of the white card gleamed with her sweat.

The lilies were in a vase, the work of Beans, who remained conspicuously silent as he took the bouquet off her desk and arranged the flowers himself. She scrutinized him but he’d pretended not to notice.

The other gift still lay next to the vase, bright and mysterious, and if Cheadle obsessed any more over not opening it _now_ the thing was going to develop a voice and start taunting her. She had better self-control.

She got off the couch and ripped the paper to shreds.

A book. Hardback, an exquisite shade of blue, embossed with golden letters.

_The Uses and Abuses of Salamander Gray, an Impertinent Biography_

She wanted to shriek.

Her giddiness and happiness remained firm under the barrage of questions she wanted to ask. The book looked pristine, new like a novel that just dropped fresh this week and stood glossy behind bookstore display windows, yet her fingers reached tentatively, almost reverently, to open the heavy cover, in part because it was a gift from him and in part because this book was ancient. More precisely, written long time ago.

She was too nervous to actually look at the words inside on the first page. If she knew anything, it was that this book was either costume-made, which in this case definitely meant reprinted without author permission –Leorio was going to have to explain himself for that one– or –and this what made her breathless with expectations– a once privately-owned copy never meant for distribution.

It was the latter.

Once her eyes finally adjusted on the page, her heart grew another heart, one that beat with an exhausting fierceness. 

The date, the publishing house, and right on the next page, the autograph. More than that, a dedication in a sweeping, loopy, elegant handwriting that was definitely not Leorio’s.

_For the illustrious Mademoiselle Yorkshire,_

_I have followed your career and work ever since I had the pleasure of reading your first article published in Vitruvia, and I find all of it most fascinating. Rigorous and dedicated, you observe the world around you with cautious yet sharp, curious eyes. I cannot imagine a more perfect successor. It’s an absolute delight to know worthy Hunters carry the torch of one’s lifelong work, a feeling with which I’m certain you’re familiar._

_A bloody-minded gentleman with remarkably steady hands and a talk full of you schemed and bartered his way into acquiring this book from me. A story I reckon he will enjoy telling you. I suppose I can no longer win with those feisty young Hunters. They become haughtier by the year, don’t you agree?_

_My memoirs now rest in your hands. A lesson, a challenge, or something else? I can only speculate as to which way you will approach what you find in this book, nevertheless I know you will make the best of it._

_Your fellow Hunter, and a fan,_

_S. Gray_

Cheadle suppressed a squeal of joy. She wanted to smack herself with the book to jolt her body out of the quiet, slumbering happiness that overtook every part of her senses, but knew that wasn’t even an option. Instead, she slowly fell back on the couch and had an urge to lay down with the book held tightly to her chest and stare in contentment at absolute nothingness until her world made sense again.

Her mind fell back to that instance in her past, that golden, glorious moment when she had finally figured out what kind of Hunter she wanted to be, holding the works of this very same man and seeing the answers to all her questions bloom within her like a flower that once unraveled, never withers. It had come to her in less than a minute, a furious spark, and she’d caught it, wrapping her fingers around it and knowing in that unshakable way that she wanted nothing more in the world than to be a virus Hunter. She had the medical background, after all, all she needed was to know the right people and establish herself in the field with some legwork. 

All because of this man.

And she had mentioned this to Leorio at some point. She knew she did but it was certainly in passing, certainly years and years ago, and he remembered. She could hazard a guess as to how he managed to not only meet one of the most reclusive Hunters to ever exist, but to get him to sign his memoirs for her, memoirs that were printed in a handful of copies and distributed within a limited circle. Leorio probably had blood on his hands for this. Not in a murder attempt, certainly, but doctors almost always found better ways.

Cheadle pulled her phone out of her pocket and contemplated calling him. It was 12 pm for her but 6 am for him. Unless there was an emergency in his vicinity then he most likely wouldn’t be awake. She slipped the phone back and decided it wasn’t a good time to call, and besides, she probably wouldn’t know what to say. A simple ‘thank you’ lurked there somewhere among the myriad of sentences she already cooked up, but that was too much brevity, even for her.

Her fingers were still tight around the phone when it buzzed. It almost slipped out of her fingers in her haste to answer. “Hello,”

“ _You know, I’ve read that nen science has developed so far that reversing the aging process is now completely within the realm of possibility. I know a professional, I can hook you up if you want._ ”

“Good morning to you too, Leorio.”

“ _Happy birthday, grandma!_ ” Leorio cackled. 

She snorted. “Fuck you.”

“ _Sure, I’ll bend over._ ” He teased. “ _To be completely honest, that_ was _my original idea for a primary gift, but since I wouldn’t have been able to deliver it on time, I thought I’ll keep it as a ‘secret gift’ for when we’re, you know, face to face._ ”

Cheadle smiled. “How disappointing.”

He laughed. “ _No seriously, happy birthday. I wish you all the happiness and great things in the world._ ” 

She reclined farther on the couch, a stupid smile persisting on her face. “Thank you, I wish you the same as well.” She sighed, feeling her heartbeat hammer against the book. “Unlike you, to be awake at this hour.”

“ _I’m feeling energetic today._ ”

“Energetic enough to tell me about your little adventure?”

“ _Oh hell yeah,_ ” Leorio said. “ _But not on the phone._ ” 

She couldn’t help herself but ask. “What was he like?”

“ _Kind of an asshole._ ” Leorio said. “ _It’s a good thing my hands were deep in his intestines, otherwise I would have been at a disadvantage._ ” 

Cheadle chuckled. “I’m sure.”

“ _Did you like them? The gifts, I mean._ ”

“Very much,” she answered, hoping that the sound of her erratic breathing didn’t reach him. “Thank you.”

“ _I’m so glad._ ” The sound of _his_ erratic breathing reached her. “ _So, how does forging into the second year of your forties feel like?_ ”

“Not bad, certainly much better than last year.” Cheadle said, and the peppiness in her voice wasn’t a conscious effort.

“ _Feeling old yet? You know forty in nen-user years is like twenty._ ”

Cheadle chuckled. “Not at all. In fact, I feel lush and exuberant. According to Cluck, I look ‘radiant’ today.”

“ _You always look radiant._ ”

She rolled her eyes, her brain’s defense against the way her heart swelled at his words. “No I don’t.”

“ _You do!_ ” He insisted. “ _You always look freshly minted, like you just stepped out of the shower fragrant and fully dry._ ”

Cheadle shrunk on herself with embarrassment. If he was here she would have clamped her hands over his mouth.

“ _What are you doing?_ ”

“I was preparing some papers for a meeting.” She said, neglecting to mention the time she wasn’t doing that which she spent diligently laboring over the card he sent. “You?”

“ _Looking at the sunrise,_ ” he exhaled. “ _Wishing you’re here._ ”

She closed her eyes, processing the fluttery sensation in her chest. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“ _Huh, why?_ ”

“It makes me sad.” She confessed, and when he was about to say something she interrupted him. “I wore that black dress I showed you once, to the party last week.”

He swallowed back whatever he was going to say. “ _Pic or it didn’t happen._ ”

“I won’t let you manipulate me into sending you a picture.”

“ _I’m not asking for nudes here,_ ” Leorio huffed. “ _But if that’s what you want…_ ”

“I would never.” Cheadle grinned. “I know how it would go. I send you the picture, and then you say: ‘oh you look pretty young for a forty one year old woman’, then I would thank you but deep inside I would resent the implications.” 

“ _I’d never do that!_ ” He protested, and she could hear his footsteps echo through the phone. “ _Also commenting on people’s age is a double edged sword for me, you see. I’m always careful with it._ ”

Cheadle chuckled. “Of course. I still remember when that nurse whispered how you were ‘too old for me’.”

“ _That._ ” Leorio said, a bite to his voice. “ _We weren’t even together then._ ”

“And we’re not together now.”

Leorio cleared his throat. She opened her eyes. Both of them seemed to abruptly sober up.

“ _You know what I mean._ ” Leorio’s voice was now quieter, almost apologetic.

“Yeah, I do.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry,”

“ _It’s okay._ ”

A long silence stretched between them, exacerbated by the clanking noises around him, the sound of somebody else saying something to him, Bean poking his head inside her office to tell her something. She didn’t know if they had anything left to say. She regretted making that remark, the way it quickly turned the conversation sour.

“ _What are you thinking about?_ ” He was still there.

Cheadle hummed. “Whether I should send you those nudes or not.”

“ _Really?_ ” His voice was still quiet but he seemed to lighten up.

“Really.”

“ _Are you going to?_ ”

She hummed again, pretending to be deep in thought. “The possibility is certainly present.”

Leorio snorted. “ _Any specific date? Time?_ ” 

“No.” Cheadle snickered. “You’ll just have to spend your day in anticipation.”

He laughed but said nothing. 

Cheadle sighed. “When are you coming back?” 

“ _Next week, probably. I just need to wrap up some things here, leave some reliable people behind._ ”

“Alright,” she held the book closer to her heart.

“ _Cheadle?_ ”

“Hmm?” 

“ _I want to talk about it when I see you, okay?_ ”

“Your encounter with a most mysterious man?” She knew what he meant, but had this sudden need to stave off the inevitable, to stall the heavy conversation, to push back against conclusions. 

“ _No, I meant the ‘us’ thing. And about the Salamander guy, too._ ” He trailed off with an unsure chuckle. 

The Salamander guy. She didn’t even have it in her to be offended at his wording.

“We’ll talk about everything,” she assured him, and meant it, to her own surprise. “But mostly you’ll bend over.”

Leorio laughed. “ _Fine, but you will be very nice with me._ ”

“Absolutely.”

Beans popped his head inside her office once again, beckoning for her more urgently now, and she nodded to him. “I have to go, they’re waiting for me.” 

“ _Yeah okay,_ ” Leorio said. “ _See you next week then?_ ”

“Yeah, see you next week.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted on 12 September, the day I headcanon Cheadle was born.


	7. Coffee Fucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one contains explicit sexual content

Leorio hadn’t been sleeping for more than two hours when he suddenly woke up with his cock engulfed in a warm wetness. His eyes opened to a dark room and if the tingling nen he felt instantly wasn’t so familiar as to almost be his own he would’ve jolted out of bed.

He sucked in a breath, the sensations hitting him immediately. The sheets shifting ever so slightly, the soft hand gripping his thigh, the quiet, barely audible sound of lips gliding on flesh, and pale fingers caressing his abdomen. His hand reached almost instinctively to the head moving slowly up and down between his legs, his fingers sinking in the lush hairs, taking thick strands in a hand that was still numb, still adjusting to the sudden awakening.

Under the sheets he saw her head, her hand holding the base of his dick as her small tongue slid over the tip. He moaned, closing his eyes for a moment, pulling at her hair. “Cheadle, what are you doing?”

She didn’t reply, her shadowed face facing him, her dark eyes locked on his, her tongue pleasuring him the only answer.

Leorio’s chest sank and a tremor ran down his leg, but his eyes remained open as he returned her sultry gaze, his hand sliding away from her hair to pull off the sheets that were covering her entire body.

Her tongue stopped, giving him a chance to heave a long sigh, and she tilted her head to the side, making him think – not for the first time – how different she looked without her glasses, her bangs wild around her face.

“What hour is it anyway?”

Her warm breath tingled his cock. “About two thirty.”

Then she crawled over him, laying wet kisses on his abdomen, his chest and collarbones, his jaw and neck, until her head finally hung over his, her hair cascading around his face, and her exciting dark stare was gradually pulling him from the numbness of sleep, her lips parted in want. His hands found her arched back, the dip of her spine, suddenly aware of their mutual nakedness.

Cheadle leaned over him and licked and bit his earlobe, whispered: “I want to fuck.”

That sent a shiver down his spine, and his hand slid further down to cup her ass. “We fucked before we went to bed.”

She sighed into his neck. “But I can’t go to sleep, I’m so wet…” She took his hand and drove it down to press it against her cunt, feeling his heart skip a beat under her chest, feeling her own heart shrink on itself as his fingers stroked her softly, drawing lazy circles around her entrance, and she grinded against his hand, her lips brushing his jaw, her needy moans ghosting over his skin. “I want you. Now.”

The hand grabbing her ass slithered down to reach her asshole, fondling the puckered ring with the tip of his middle finger. He knew she likes it, responding to his touches by thrusting herself further down on the hand that was still leisurely massaging her pussy, her damp clit rubbing against his palm.

Then Leorio suddenly straightened up and pulled her roughly against him, his arm encircling her waist, the length of his hard cock gliding on her cunt, and he took her lips in his, tugging at her hair, opened his mouth for her tongue, kissed her feverishly, arched his back to the caresses of her fingers, breathed her name when she bit hard on his lower lip, and only broke the kiss to pull her up with a hand under her ass, bring her small breasts to his mouth to suck on the hard nipples, slide his tongue over the supple flesh, feeling himself getting harder with each moan that escaped her lips. His other hand found her cunt again; he stroked her swollen clit with his thumb while slipping a finger inside, then two, gliding them quickly in and out, making her jolt up.

He breathed against her chest, their heart beats drumming in his ear. “I feel really light-headed. You’re so warm…” then he slid his fingers out of her, receiving a soft protest in return, and brought them up to his mouth, to smell her, to taste her, his tongue eagerly lapping up the glistening, sticky juices coating his fingers. Cheadle took his hand and inched closer, staring into his eyes, taking his middle finger all the way inside her mouth, her head moving back and forth, sucking it like she did his cock.

Leorio couldn’t bear it anymore. “Turn around.” It sounded more commanding then he intended, but still on his lap, she complied, her back pressed tightly against his chest, her feet burying under his knees.

Her hand grabbed the back of his head and she tilted her head to the side, allowing him full access to her neck. His frenzied breathing tickled her skin, and she felt herself burning up, felt her face glow from the heat as one hand climbed up to her breast to twist her nipple between two fingers, and the other sliding down to rub her clit all the while his cock pressed deliciously against her and she used her hand to firmly grab and jerk it.

Leorio sucked on her neck and stroked her breast. “What do you want, Cheadle?”

She caressed the head of his dick with her thumb, eliciting a deep groan and causing a row of teeth to sink in her shoulder. “I want you inside me,” she breathed. “I want you to cum inside me.”

He lifted her up slightly and positioned her over the tip of his cock, then brought her down hard on him and kept her motionless there, delighting in the whiny little noises she always makes when he first gets inside her, by the way she wriggled over him and touched herself. At moments like these you can’t distinguish your own nen from another’s. Leorio let out a long moan, enthralled by the way her moist walls gripped him, by the hotness that seeped into his prick, by how he could feel all of her around him. “Is that what you want?” he whispered in her ear. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” she breathed out, turning her head to the side to catch his lips for a wet, meandering kiss. She pulled away and looked into his eyes, her speckled face glowing beautifully, the usual bright green of her irises receding to the margins, thinning against the dilated blackness of her pupils, her pouting lips red and bright from the kiss. “Fuck me, please…”

Leorio complied, began slowly rocking his hips as Cheadle brought down her hands, grabbing his thighs to balance herself, bringing her body down when his hips bumped up. He held her waist, and she felt him throbbing inside her, felt his nen intermingle with hers. He pounded into her and she wanted him deeper.

Her first wave of bliss washed over her, erratic and fervid, and she breathed out his name, digging her nails into the flesh of his thighs. Shaking, Cheadle leaned forward and filled her lungs with a long inhale, bringing both of them to a stop. “Use your nen.”

He yanked her back tighter against his chest, making her gasp softly, and his fingers instantly slid from her waist down to her clit, stroking the damp bud with tiny circles. “You’re being really needy tonight,”

Even though she couldn’t see his face she knew he was smiling; that breathy, heaving smile, affectionate and awfully, awfully loving. Cheadle chuckled. “You don’t like it?”

Leorio thrusted his cock deep inside her and pressed his thumb on her clit. “I love it. You’re not always like this.”

She rested against him, laying the back of her head on his shoulder. “Since I figured what you could do with your hands I can’t rest.”

His ensuing laughter filled the room, then his lips brushed against her ear. “It can be weirder than you think it is.”

“Then show me.”

Cheadle sensed his nen flare up and branch out, warming up her whole body, engulfing her own aura, immersive and pleasant.

“Where do you want them?” Leorio asked, resting a gentle, nen-infused hand on her stomach.

She smirked, already feeling her heartbeat quickening. “Everywhere.”

Then, for a moment, Cheadle lost which were Leorio’s actual two hands among the seemingly tens of arms that sprang up around her, some even sprouting from her own flesh.

“Ah fuck,” she breathed out, finding herself strangely excited by the sensation of being the center of an orgy of arms and hands that sought her out hungrily, some wrapping around her torso, sensually caressing her legs, smooth fingertips on her inner thighs, and then she sucked in a breath when two fingers ran circles over her asshole. Cheadle wanted to laugh, weirded out and exhilarated all the same. “It  _ is _ weird.”

Two hands reached from behind her to cup both of her breasts, and even though they felt exactly as Leorio’s hands on her do, she knew they weren’t the real thing. The impish hand that had started all this was down on her clit, and his other real arm was one of the three that were holding her immobile against his chest.   


He lavished her neck with ravenous kisses, sucking and biting and gliding his tongue over her hot skin as he resumed rocking into her, sliding deeper inside her with each thrust. “You want more?”

“Yes.” She hissed out.   


Her arms were suddenly yanked behind her back, locked by his nen hands, then she opened her mouth in a silent gasp, sensing a finger slide into her ass, then two fingers joined his cock inside her, and her moan was instantly muffled by a hand that roughly held her jaw in place and fingers that slithered inside her mouth. She couldn’t move at all, only her mouth worked on sucking his fingers, her tongue gliding along the lengths of them, feeling her vaginal walls clamp up on the throbbing thickness inside her.

His cock and fingers worked in tandem, pounding faster and harder into her, and she closed her eyes and bit hard on the fingers inside her mouth, which surprised her by disappearing, but finally gave her space to let out a wild, erratic exhale that quickly dissolved into a wanton, shamelessly licentious moan when a second finger was thrust inside her ass.

And then from the fog of it all she felt him again, the actual him, still against her, still holding her, his heart a mad thing, his chest on her back a furnace, the tips of his fingers frantically rubbing her clit, his own rabid, breathy moans hot against her neck.   


“I’m so close…” Cheadle’s head fell down. “Faster,”

A third finger entered her, burying deep inside, gliding fervently in and out. The gentle touches on her inner thighs, the hands that caressed her nipples, the fingers in her ass, it all hit her simultaneously and she threw her head back, a long orgasm coursing through her body, leaving her soundless and shaking.

One more thrust and Leorio came, groaning into her neck, his scalding lips on her skin shooting a shiver down her spine, and in his momentary loss of control all the nen hands disappeared, leaving her wobbling, her only harbor the two arms that held protectively onto her, wrapped around her chest and stomach.

They remained like this for a while, breathing in the aftermath of sex, catching their breaths, his prick still inside her, her legs still trembling between his. Then slowly Cheadle rose her body up, letting his dick slide out of her, and despite the slight pain in her back she turned around, his arms still around her.   


“That was more than what I bargained for when I slid under the sheets to suck your dick.”

Leorio chuckled, still catching his breath. He caressed her back and stroked her hair, removing damp bangs away from her eyes. “You liked it?”

“I did,” she smiled, rubbing her thumb on his cheek. “But for a moment amidst all that I lost you,” she said, a soft frown marring her face. “I couldn’t feel  _ you _ anymore, and it was strange.”

He pulled her into a tight hug before she could see his happy expression fully tumble down. “I love you so much, and I miss you already. You’re right here but I miss you so much.”

Cheadle held him and ran her fingers through his hair. “I miss you too, I miss you all the time.” She kissed his neck. “I feel like you’ve only just arrived yesterday.”

Leorio pulled away from the hug to look at her. “Wanna go out?”

Her eyes widened. “Now?”

“Yeah, we can get something to drink, walk around, wind down.”

“You should get some rest, your flight takes off early tomorrow.”

“I can sleep in the plane.” He said. “Besides, I bet you’re hungry too, isn’t that why you  _ really _ woke up tonight?”

Cheadle smirked. “I ate.”

He pulled her closer for a kiss, lingering over her lower lip, their noses brushing. “How about now?”

“I could go for some ice cream.”

“Let’s go get it then.” 


End file.
